Daphne
by ChaosKirin
Summary: Michael Corner is stubborn. He doesn't want to apologise... He wants HER to apologise. Within minutes, it's too late for either of them when Daphne suffers a tragic accident and dies before his eyes. But there's more to it than meets the eye...


**Daphne**  
_By E. Elizabeth_

Michael counted the issues off on his fingers. "You're poison. You're toxic. You're insane. I never want to speak to you again." In reality, he loved Daphne so much that it was driving him out of his mind. He couldn't live without her... But it was making him so mad that he needed to think. He needed space. She looked wounded, devastated, but even so, he kept on. "You remember that plant I told you about? It's called Daphne. It's so suiting for you, you have no idea. So toxic, every part is poisonous, and that's what you are, Daphne. And who wants that?"

He'd seen her cry before, but not like that. Never had he seen this absolute hopelessness in her face, and all he wanted to do at that point was wrap his arms around her and hold her close, and tell her it was all going to be okay. But she had to apologise first... That was in the rules. Unwritten as they were, he was going to gain the upper hand in this fight, and she was going to come crawling back.

Of course, he knew her to be extremely stubborn, and he knew that he'd be the one to apologise eventually. Without her, he'd die.

Tomorrow, he thought to himself. Tomorrow, after she'd had time to stew on his words for a while. As she ran off toward Hagrid's cabin to hide, he let her go, turning back toward the castle.

A moment later, he decided that tomorrow was too long, and he'd go to her now. Thusly, he began the trek down the hill to the little hut, which was met halfway by a blood-curdling scream.

Daphne.

He ran the rest of the way, tripping once over a stone and rolling for a while. By the time he reached the cabin, though, whatever had happened was through. Hagrid was bowing nervously to an enraged hippogriff, and on the ground was Daphne, bleeding profusely. She was still breathing, but she'd been opened up from her chin down to her stomach, and it was hard to tell the robes she'd been wearing were even black anymore. With a last shuddering sigh, she lay still.

---

It wasn't the first time in Michael's Hogwarts career that a student died. There was Cedric Diggory back in fourth year, of course, but that seemed so distant. This one really hit him to the point where he literally shut down for days. No amount of consoling on the part of his peers could bring him out of his dormitory, and he only left to go to her funeral. It was a closed casket, given that she'd been so horribly injured, which meant that he didn't even get the chance to see her one last time, to touch her hand, or to put the picture of them together into the pocket of her robe. As all wizards and witches were, Daphne was cremated; the last of her was burned to ashes while Michael watched.

He comforted her sister, Cara. He hugged her mother, shook hands with her father, and told her brother, Trevor how much he loved her. There were only two people who knew the real reason Daphne was gone, though. One of them was dead, and the other wasn't telling anyone.

People said he would move on, but Michael didn't think so. He couldn't help but carry the burden of guilt on his shoulders, made even worse by the fact that he wouldn't ever tell anyone about their last argument. Even his best friends, Anthony and Terry, eventually stepped aside to let him carry on by himself. Yes, he went to classes, yes, he studied. He put his all into his work, because it was the only way he could _not _think of Daphne. Thinking of her only brought pain, and he wanted so badly for the pain to stop.

It might have been better for him if he never walked down to the dungeon to say goodbye. There existed a classroom, empty except for a few desks, where he and Daphne used to sit and talk. He wanted to see her footprints in the dust, and perhaps he'd sit there for a while until he could let go. After this week, he'd never return to Hogwarts again, and Hogwarts was his very last connection to _her. _To leave without saying goodbye would be almost as grand a tragedy as her death.

When he opened the door, though, there was a ghost sitting atop the teacher's desk. For a moment, he thought he'd yell; this was a private place, a special place! And then he realised that the ghost was Daphne.

She looked up at him in surprise. Obviously, she'd not expected to see him here, and had no intention of seeking him out. Michael, however, was elated, and ran to her, only to remember at the last moment that she was no longer solid. Stopping short, he grinned like an idiot into a face that was so sad, his heart broke right then.

"Hey, Mikey," she said, forcing a smile.

"Daphne, why didn't you... I'm so sorry, Daph. I'm so sorry. For everything..." There was so much more to be said, but he didn't speak it. Realising his words weren't going to bring her back, he quieted, settling down on the desk next to her, just to sit. He already knew why she hadn't sought him out... It was right there in her face. Now he knew that she'd survived somehow. He knew she wasn't dead. It didn't answer everything, though. Not even half of what he wanted to know. And there was still so much to say...

"I love you, Michael," she said.

"I know," he replied. "I love you, too. I was coming to apologise..."

She held up a hand. "That's why I don't ever want to see you again." When he started to protest, she shook her head, and he let her go on. "You're going to grow up, Michael, and I'm going to stay the same age I am now. Forever." He looked at her, and he noticed the faint trails of the hippogriff's clawmarks that traveled down her neck and under the collar of her torn robe. "You don't need to see that. You don't need to look at me and remember that, Mikey. You're going to grow old. You're going to have a family. You're going to die happy, and you're never going to even think to come back here. Promise me that, Mikey."

For a moment, he didn't know what to say, but he understood. He knew it would kill him to see her so young still, when he was so old. "I promise," he said.

"And I promise you that when... When your kids come to Hogwarts, I'll love them. I'll take care of them like they're my own."

Michael nodded. He couldn't see her anymore through the tears.

"If you even think to come back here for me, I won't see you. I won't do that to you, and I don't want you to do it for me. Now, go live for me, Mikey."

A long time passed, and he looked at her, and she looked at him, and then he said, "I'll live for you, Daph. I'll do my best."

---

Many years passed after that. Many summers, many winters. Daphne kept track by the number of welcoming feasts she attended... And she went to all of them. Each year, she carried with her the hope that Michael's children would walk down the long hall to be sorted, and she could keep her promise to him. She could picture them, too... Each like their father, maybe. Stubborn, but kind in their own way. Occasionally at night when she felt alone, she thought of the things they might have named their kids. She liked the name Miranda... And imagined that Michael might like the name John.

But every year, nothing.

Michael's sister had one child, a son named Chester, who would occasionally tell Daphne how Michael was doing. He didn't know a whole lot about his uncle, though, and said that he liked to keep to himself most of the time. Twenty-five Sorting Ceremonies passed Daphne by, and Michael was still not married.

It was strange when the children of her friends passed through Hogwarts on their way to growing up. She watched them struggle with exams, homework, love, and she helped them when she could. They moved on, though, too, and even though _their_ children eventually came to Hogwarts, Daphne began to withdraw, the joy weakening, the hope waning. Michael was far too old to have children now, and she was saddened. It was a promise they'd made that she was going to uphold, and he'd backed out on his end of it.

Sometimes, she thought about going to see him, but the pain it would cause him would be far too great. She hadn't aged a single day in ninety-nine years, and his heart was already broken. She didn't need to shatter it to pieces, too.

But she missed him so much.

On her one-hundredth deathday party, she cried. And after that, she didn't go to another sorting. After that, she lost track of time. Most ghosts did, though, after a while. Some kept track, and some just seemed to fade away. Of course, there was no way to leave this existence, but with an eternity in front of them, some spirits remained dormant for days, years even, without showing their faces. Daphne wondered if perhaps she was reaching that point, where she would just stop caring about the fact that she was here.

In the corner of her mind, she had a vague idea of the time. There were more people in the castle over certain times during the next couple years, which meant another semester was in session. Days blurred together, though. If she spoke to a student, she couldn't even recall the conversation a few hours later.

The Grey Lady found her one night in the dungeon. It was the first time in a long time Daphne actually paid attention to the words of another. Blinking blearily, she brought herself back to attentiveness, shrugging off the mental sleep into which she'd comfortably fallen. "You have a visitor," the Ravenclaw ghost told her. "Out by the lake. I'm sure you'll want to go."

Funnily enough, Daphne knew exactly who it was. Despite her vow that she'd not see him if he came to visit her at the castle, she had to go. She had to ask why he'd broken his promise. She had to talk with him again, maybe to laugh, despite the fact that she _knew_ he'd have that sad look on his face. Maybe they'd cry a little, too, but they'd be together, and it would be okay. For just a moment in time, it would be okay.

As she walked across the grounds, she realised that it was far, far past midnight. Past curfew. Once upon a time, if she and Michael were caught out here at this hour, it would be detention. Maybe for a month, maybe a year. Neither of them cared now, though... Both were old, mentally, at least. She could see him, standing on the shore, close to the water. His hair was grey and sparse, he was slightly hunched over, wearing what looked to be a beautifully tailored suit. Old. Michael was old. Very old.

Daphne had to steel herself for this... It wasn't going to be easy for either of them. Eventually, though, she approached, standing next to him and looking into the water at his reflection. Daphne didn't have one, which was momentarily strange, but he felt her there anyway. When he turned to look at her, he had an amused expression on his face, and she recognised the smile instantly. There were little folds around his eyes that always appeared when he was happy, and though they were so much more pronounced now, thanks to his age, this was unmistakably Michael.

She found herself looking back at him with the same bemused demeanor. "You're certainly not how I remember you," she said.

The way he looked to the ground was almost bashful. Daphne noticed that he was searching for a canteen clipped to his side, though, and when he found it, he took quite a long pull on its contents. Daphne hadn't ever known him to drink, and she frowned at that. Michael just shook his head, though, tossing the canteen to the ground. "I said I'd live for you, Daph, and I did." His voice was rusty and quiet. "And I thought about you all the time. I know I said I'd marry... get on with things... But the truth is that none of them wouldn't have been you. I knew that from the moment we had that fight on the day you died."

"I waited," she said.

"I didn't let it go to waste, though," he continued. "I was a pretty successful Healer, after a few years. You... You remember how awful we were in Herbology?"

"I hated that class," Daphne admitted with a chuckle. "I've even talked a few people out of the NEWT course in my time."

"You're awful, Daph."

"I know. So are you. But go on."

Michael turned back to the lake, and took a step toward it. Though he stumbled, he regained his footing. Suddenly, he seemed even weaker than he was just a moment prior, but he still found his voice. "I went into the study of poisonous herbs. It stuck with me, what I said to you, you know? And I just had to... I don't know. I had to see your name. I read all I could about it."

Daphne stepped toward him, too. If she concentrated, she could actually force her hand to make contact with his back. She knew it was cold, and Michael winced, but he didn't pull away as she spoke. "You mean, about Daphne." He nodded. "I never thought I'd see you as an Herbologist, Mikey."

He seemed to be ignoring her, though. There was a faraway look in his eyes as he went on. "Learned all sorts of things. The right dose would just make a person fall asleep and never wake up."

She looked to the drained canteen, then to Michael. "We have to get you into the school. Now."

He shook his head. "No. No, I said I'd live for you, Daphne, and I did. My heart's going, Daph. It's only a matter of time anyway."

"You're not going to come here and _die_ on me, Michael!" Daphne snapped, frantically. There wasn't anything she could do, though. She couldn't force him to move. Despite how much she tried to push him, he just stood there, staring over the lake. It might have been ten minutes or an hour before he collapsed face-down into the water, and she kneeled by his side as he did, trying to pull on his jacket, trying to rescue her very last reason to even smile, ever. He was most assuredly gone, though, and Daphne wondered just what it was that he was trying to prove. Was this his punishment to her for what happened over a hundred years ago?

"You see," said Michael, and he paused for a long time. Long enough for Daphne to turn away from the old body and look up. He stood there, translucent but young, handsome, just how she'd known him from school. She must have looked surprised, because he laughed. "I might have been senile. I don't know. But it occurred to me that when you died, I did, too. Not clinically, no... I was still breathing. But whatever it was that made me who I was died the day I left you behind after seventh year. I figured I'd just help myself along a bit."

"You don't... You don't want this, Michael." Daphne stood up, unable to take her eyes from his. When he reached out for her hand, he was able to take it. She was able to feel it. For the first time in a century, she was able to feel.

"I don't think I have a choice, Daph," he said, reaching around her shoulders to draw her into the embrace she missed so much.


End file.
